Marmalade Skies
by Mischa21
Summary: In which the landing party trips out on a planet filled with hallucinogenic flowers. Among these strange vibrations, McCoy finds himself inexplicably drawn to Spock.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek. **

* * *

The sky burned. Or rather, it appeared to. The top was a faint, dusty orange that reminded McCoy of some terrible carpet he'd once seen back on Earth. Below that, it rippled into a more vibrant shade, almost red but not quite. Like flames licking the open expanse, surrounding a sun so ultraviolet-bright it looked ready to swallow them whole.

"This isn't going to seem like so much fun when we're all suffering from melanoma," he said to Jim.

"It's not even that hot."

It really wasn't. Maybe what unsettled him the most was the illusion the sun created. Everyone else had proclaimed the planet to be gorgeous, paradisiacal even. McCoy didn't understand the raving. It was an uninhabited rock covered with flowers and nothing more.

Yes, that's right. Flowers. They were tiny little things in every single color on the spectrum, and a few too bright for human eyes to fully comprehend. Or so he'd been told. Nice to look at, if you were into that kind of thing. Overall, it was nothing to write home about.

He glanced at the rest of the landing party. Spock was, of course, investigating the peculiar plants. Sulu and Jim were conversing about something or another. And Chekov was whispering something into this blonde girl's ear, although his lips were a lot closer than strictly necessary. She giggled, and a wave of irritation rose within McCoy.

He wasn't alone in that feeling.

"Hey, now." Jim snapped his fingers at them. "We're here to study the biology of the flowers, not each other." He turned back to Spock. "Anything interesting?"

Spock raised an eyebrow at his tricorder. "Indeed. The readings are quite fascinating."

"How so?"

They never found out what he planned to say next, because a huge wave of shimmery white dust burst from the centers of the flowers, raining over the entire group. Spock, being the closest to the flowers, was hit with the worst of it, although McCoy got his share, too. And so did everyone else.

There was a long moment of silence while they all sputtered, sneezed, and brushed the pollen off their clothes.

Jim knelt down beside Spock, who hadn't so much as twitched. "Are you all right?"

No response.

Rolling his eyes, McCoy consulted his medical tricorder. "His serotonin levels just spiked. Other than that, nothing out of the ordinary." Happy Vulcans couldn't be any worse than self-righteous ones, right?

Spock stood up, coherent once more. "I appear to have missed something."

"Those crazy ass flowers tried to multiply, or something," McCoy said. "We all got showered with pollen. How do you feel?"

"I experienced a momentary overload of sensation, however, I do not seem to have incurred any permanent damage."

But if he had… "We should go back to the ship, and get everyone into Sickbay. That stuff could be poison, for all we know."

"As no one is exhibiting negative symptoms, that seems unnecessary," Spock said. "I plan to…" He blinked a few times. "Continue my observations. Excuse me."

Soon after, everyone else murmured their own excuses, and wandered off in separate directions in something of a daze, leaving McCoy alone. Well, that was great. Like it wasn't bad enough he'd gotten dragged down here, now they'd all decided it was time for an early shore leave on what had to be the dullest planet in existence.

He was about to beam back up to the ship, and say screw it all, when a very strange feeling overtook him.

A single drop of sweat rolled down his spine, despite the lack of heat. He leaned back to gaze up at the luminous sky, and every single vertebra in his t-spine popped simultaneously. The sensation sent a shiver throughout him, causing the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck to stand straight up.

White lightning flashed across the sky, which then turned a shade of bright mauve. Clouds rolled across at an unnatural pace. Inside McCoy's chest, a strange ache began. He took a step forward, no particular destination in mind, and found that once he started walking, he was hard pressed to stop.

The rest of the landing party had spread far and wide. During his journey, he caught a glimpse of Sulu and Jim running off toward the horizon, chasing some invisible entity. Streaks of colored air flowed out behind them, marking their path. Traces of the idea that he should follow lingered in his mind, but there was one person in particular he wanted to see, and it was neither of them.

McCoy didn't know how long or how far he walked for. Could've been six miles, could've been six steps. Hell, he could've been here for six years, for all he knew. When the field curved into a slight upward slope, a deep understanding clicked within his foggy brain.

Spock was situated on the crest of the hillside, his fingers threaded through the mass of flowers that surrounded him. A pulse echoed through McCoy's chest. He couldn't refuse those last few steps.

Why would he want to see Spock, of all people? He didn't know. He didn't much care. He just knew there was a question he needed an answer to, and the Vulcan was that answer.

McCoy sprawled out beside Spock, who didn't move a muscle. The clouds hung heavy above them, sitting in the sky like diamonds, but without movement this time.

"Spock," he whispered, except it came out real slow and long, then rewound itself right quick.

Spock's eyes snapped open without warning. His pupils went supernova, the irises scarcely visible at all. "They are part of me. And I am a part of them. We are one, the same." His fingers tightened their grip on the handful of flowers, the petals crushing against his skin, lining it with dusty pollen. It shimmered in the clear, bright light.

"You meld with these things?" The words still didn't sound right, but at least they were understandable this time.

Spock's eyebrows rose up, scrunched together, and then his expression became neutral once more, all in the matter of, say, half a second. "As they have no minds to meld with, that would not be logical."

A burst of laughter pierced the air. It took McCoy a minute to realize it was coming from him. He rubbed his eyes, trying so hard to stop the noise. He couldn't stop, because, really, it was too much.

"Your face is illogical," he finally managed to say.

Spock raised an eyebrow. Sunlight filled his eyes, turning them into prisms of colored light. A pang of something hit McCoy straight in the chest, and he realized he hadn't been wrong. Spock's face _was_ illogical. Totally, completely, absolutely illogical.

It was not a bad thing. Not too bad, anyway.

"I am so fucked." McCoy shut his eyes as tight as possible. It was easier that way. Everything was so misunderstood right now, it was better to ignore it, rather than get hung up on it. Tense vibrations skittered up and down his spine. Up. Down. Up. Up. Down. He opened his eyes, but everything remained the same.

"I disagree, Doctor. This experience need not be negative. Relax." Spock released the flowers he'd been clutching, and stretched his hand across the grass. His fingertips brushed McCoy's, light enough to call it accidental but with enough pressure to send a rush of adrenaline through the Doctor.

The vibrations turned sweet again, blooming into a blaze of euphoria that burned him from the inside out. His fingertips grew hot against Spock's, glowing like stars in a dark night sky.

Something snapped inside his mind, and suddenly, there was no longer too much confusion. The grass, the flowers, the sun that hung above them, the unrelenting vibrations, and Spock's skin touching his own…it all made perfect sense. Everything fit together, into a single entity with no secrets whatsoever.

"I get it now," McCoy breathed. "What you were saying before." He extended his hand further, wrapping his palm around Spock's and holding it so, so tight, like he was afraid that if they weren't touching, all meaning would be lost. And, who knew, maybe it would.

He rolled over on his side, so they were facing. But when he tried to summon the words to describe the whirlwind of thoughts swarming within him, his supreme knowledge collapsed. Goddamn it. The words were right on the tip of his tongue, yet in a way, the feeling remained indescribable.

"I already know," Spock said, as if he sensed McCoy's frustration. "There are no secrets between us right now." His eyes were entirely black now, dilated to the max.

It was such a strange sight; McCoy couldn't stop himself from devolving into another fit of unmitigated laughter. "You look like a goddamn alien with those eyes."

He expected the Vulcan to have a witty retort to that. Instead, the unthinkable happened—Spock laughed. And it was the weirdest fucking thing McCoy had ever seen. But it was the _best_ thing, too. The skin around his eyes crinkled, and the widest, most natural looking smile in the history of the universe stretched across his face. And the sound of his laughter, as it rushed through the air, was completely infectious, like he'd been holding it in for years and just couldn't take it anymore.

God, what McCoy wouldn't give experience this more often. Like, every day would be a good start, but it would never be enough. It'd surely be better than how things usually were between them.

"There are kaleidoscopes in your eyes," Spock said suddenly. "It is most exquisite."

"You are so fucking gone." Hell, they both were.

"On the contrary, Doctor, I have not moved since your arrival." Spock reached out, traced a fingertip across McCoy's eyelids. "Fascinating."

"Kaleidoscopes, huh?"

"Indeed."

"That doesn't seem logical." Right, because he was such an expert on that.

"I am feeling many things at the moment. None of them are particularly logical. And yet, I do not believe that makes them untrue."

McCoy could relate. His feelings were not lacking for greatness, either. The intense understanding continued to pulse within him, as well as a sense of euphoria. Also, the air tasted like the color blue, but that was neither here nor there.

His entire body was electric as he slid across the grass, closing the small distance between them. Spock's eyes were mirrors in that moment, managing to be simultaneously vacant and full. There was a strange sense of beauty in that, and McCoy couldn't deny the rapid vibrations any longer.

Gravity ceased to exist when their lips met. It was like he was lost and found all at the same time. Sparks flowed between them, the rest of the world falling to the wayside. He dug his fingers through the grass, crushing the flowers beneath them.

It made sense, and it didn't. They were part of each other, part of everything—one single entity with no beginning or end. Enlightened.

Despite all that, though, they still had to breathe. Unfortunately.

McCoy broke away, much sooner than he wanted to. Spock latched on to him, wrapping his long fingers around his wrists, like he was trying to force him to stay on this wavelength, despite them already being gone, gone, gone.

"None of this can stay." Spock's tone was matter of fact, but the words sounded damn near melancholy. It was like a dream, real but not real. Nonsensical and lucid, all in one breath.

"This can stay." McCoy leaned over, brushed his lips across Spock's again. A shiver rippled down his spine, despite the comfortable temperature. Stopping didn't appeal to him, so he didn't even try to.

They stayed there together, for what seemed like forever. The intensity of the colors, the air, and the feeling of their skin touching only grew more intense with every breath.

Just when McCoy was starting to think his brain had melted (despite the information lurking in the back of his mind that assured him that was insane), and he was stuck tripping for the rest of eternity, the air began to clear. The ripples down his spine lessened, one at a time, until they were no longer there at all.

The end was near.

He watched as Spock's pupils shrank down to a normal size. And even though McCoy was somewhat relieved to be back on the plane of normality, a wave of nostalgia flooded his chest. How could he possibly miss something he'd never realized he'd wanted? Or something that wasn't entirely over yet, for that matter.

If Spock was feeling any sort of regret, he sure as hell didn't show it. "We must gather the rest of the crew, before the effect takes hold again." He sat up, straightened his shirt for longer than necessary.

"Can I ask you something?"

"I believe you already have."

"Don't be such a smart ass."

"Very well. I am listening."

"Why…" McCoy plucked out a single strand of grass, twirling it between his index and middle finger. "Out of all the people who beamed down to this godforsaken planet, why did I come looking for you? I don't even like you, goddamn it."

"The hallucinogenic effects of the flowers lowered your inhibitions. Considering you have not yet left, they most likely allowed you to act on your true desires."

A logical statement if he'd ever heard one. Whether or not it was some sort of residual body effect, McCoy would never know, but he had no desire to leave. He wrapped one hand around Spock's wrist. "Stay with me, just for a minute longer."

Spock was quiet for a moment, and then he nodded. "As you wish."

They collapsed back against the grass, their hands entwined. McCoy blinked up at the pale, orange sky, savoring the fluttering that continued within his chest. The trip might be over, but that didn't mean he was ready to wake up.


End file.
